Dick Grayson - Murderer
by robster72
Summary: Grayson is on the trail of a murderer. This looks like being an open and shut case but the only thing that is shut is the door in Grayson's cell. What happened? And can he get out? All reviews welcome.
1. Chapter 1

This is set a few years in the future, when Dick Grayson is a Lieutenant in the Bludhaven police force Chapter One

_Dick Grayson was slumped on the floor. He looked about him again. He tried to huddle up for warmth. Damn it was cold here. Why was it always so cold here? He reached a hand up to his head. His head had healed up but blood still coated the side of his face. He could hear doors slamming in the rooms around him. Roll call._

_ He got to his feet and winced. The bruises from the beating he had gotten on the first day were still there and he could still feel them._

_ Now he was just Grayson, R 543543._

_ Bruce Wayne had visited him on the first day inside. He had assured him he would get the best lawyers. That didn't protect him here. Since he was a "special case" they had given him his own cell. Police officers, even ex police officers were not exactly treated nicely here._

_ On the first day he had met several villains he had personally arrested and several more he had captured as Nightwing. Fortunately he was not recognised as Nightwing but he was recognised as a police officer. About a dozen of them had jumped him in the exercise yard. He gave several of them a few punches to remember him by but in the end he just got overwhelmed. The prison guards just stood by and chuckled until he had been beaten unconscious. _

_ He remembered Bruce Wayne's face again. He had his normal chirpy millionaire playboy look about him but something in Bruce Wayne's eyes betrayed his feelings. He thought Dick Grayson was guilty. It wouldn't stop him trying to help him but… The feeling carried on. If his oldest friends thought he was guilty what chance did he have in a court of law? Was he guilty? His memory of the incident was kind of hazy now. Had he hit him too hard? If anyone deserved it, he did. Has something he had done killed him? He shuddered. He always played rough; he had always been trained to. But what if something he had done had killed someone? The door in front of him slammed open and the guard was there. _

_ "Come on, Grayson. Exercise. Get your ass out of there."_

_ Dick Grayson shuddered and then walked out of the cell._

It had been a standard homicide he had been investigating in Bludhaven. Dick Grayson had received his call and he had gone to the site. It was a small park dedicated to the veterans of Bludhaven. Those soldiers who had lost their lives in the World Wars. Another life had been snuffed out in the park. The area had already been cordoned off as a crime scene and an intense search was being done in the area. The woman was dead. There was no doubt about that. She had been stabbed in the back several times. They hadn't found the murder weapon yet but they were still searching.

Dick Grayson walked up to the body. One of the first things Bruce Wayne had taught him, as a detective was it is not what is there at the scene but often what isn't there. It can tell you a lot about the murder. Her phone was there. It was a new Nokia clam shell phone. They were selling for more than $400. Her handbag was there as well. She was still wearing her clothes. Not sexually motivated then. The contents of her handbag were strewn about the sidewalk including money. Not financially motivated then. He looked at her fingers. She was tanned, obviously been on holiday recently, and there was a white patch on her finger. Someone had taken her ring, or she had taken her ring off recently. House keys. Where were her house keys? He looked about the sidewalk. No sign of anything. Why take the ring and leave the phone?

"Hey Bill," Dick called to scenes of crime officer. "You find any keys on the victim?"

"Nope. What you see is what you get el tee."

"What about a ring?"

"Nope."

"You got an ID on the victim?"

"Names Susan Sarandon. PA at the Bludhaven City Bank."

"Next of kin been informed?"

"Hey we're just grunts, that's your job, sir."

Grayson chuckled, although he didn't feel less like laughing. "Let me know what forensics come up with." He walked up to his car. The wind was blowing the remains of a paper past him. He grimaced. The front cover was showing a silhouette of a Bat like creature swooping through the heavens in Gotham City. Bruce would not be pleased with that. If a journalist was sniffing round him looking for pictures or a story he might get a visit from Batman at some unsociable hour.

He got in the car and switched on his police radio. "This is Lieutenant Grayson. Get me the address for Susan Sarandon. Also get me details of her next of kin."

Grayson drove carefully through the streets towards the address given. It was a poor part of downtown Bludhaven. Obviously being a PA at a bank doesn't give you the keys to some of the plushest apartments. He parked up outside, got out and walked towards the building. The area stank of rubbish. The garbage men had been on strike for more pay for the past two weeks and the fetid stink of humanity was starting to encroach everywhere. Rats that had been feeding in the some of the bin bags on the street scuttled away at his approach. Nice area.

He looked at the information he had scrawled down. "Apartment 32" He walked up the stairs to the third floor, the lift was broken. The way it smelt he fancied a walk anyway. He didn't know why he went to her apartment first rather than her next of kin. Something about the whole murder just didn't ring true. He heard an argument going on in Apartment 29. Apartment 30 an old lady had her door open on the latch and she was holding a mop handle. Dick gave her a half smile as he walked past. Apartment 31 the door was broken down and it looked like squatters were using it. Apartment 32. Well the door was slightly open. He tapped it with his foot. It swung open. The lock had been jemmied open. Noiselessly he drew his pistol from his side holster. He crept in. The apartment, in spite of the neighbourhood, was nicely kept. Pictures on the wall. Fresh flowers in a vase. There was little she could do about the damp patch on the ceiling but it wasn't bad.

There was a crashing sound from the room next to him. Damn. He should have let the station know where he was. That was Nightwing all over, act first and thinks later. He was thinking he was in the Nightwing costume again. He took a deep breath and looked round the corner. The window was open. It was crashing against the frame making the noise. He walked up to it. Damn it! A man was running down the fire escape. He had obviously heard him come in. He had a bag over his shoulder.

Grayson jumped out the window and landed on the fire escape. The perp was three floors below just about to jump into the alley. Dick leapt off the fire escape. He had no utility belt.

No costume.

No line.

He didn't need them. He grabbed the ladder as he fell and threw himself into a forward roll in mid air. He hooked one ankle round the bottom fire escape, spun himself round to slow his ascent and landed agilely on the ground. The perp had missed all this as he was still running. Grayson started running after him

Dick Grayson grabbed his communicator. "This is Grayson at the Nair House Apartment block. I am pursuing a suspect East on foot. He is wanted in connection with the Sarandon homicide." The guy in front was slow. Dick Grayson was a superb athlete. He soon caught up with him and grabbed him by the shoulder. The man whipped around with a knife in his hand. Grayson caught his knife hand and swept his legs away from under him sending him to the ground with a heavy crash.

"Hey what gives man?"

"I'm arresting you for breaking and entering."

"This is assault man!"

"This is an arrest man." Grayson read him his rights. He cuffed him and dragged him to his car. He spoke into his communicator. "I'm bringing in a robbery suspect."

The suspect in the back of the car was complaining about being set up. God, whatever happened to the criminals who just confessed all? Again there was something about this that just didn't ring true? The murderer stole her keys. This guy broke into her apartment. Using a crowbar or a jemmy by all accounts.

Grayson drove the perp down to the station and got him signed in. Damn. He still hadn't spoken to Sarandon's parents. He would have to wait before he interviewed him.

He picked up a female officer. Bludhaven's police always recommended a female presence on these sorts of all too common situations.

Her name was Melanie Wilkinson. She was about 5' 6" medium build, blonde hair. Jeez he looked at her like she was a suspect. She had been with the force for several years but Grayson had not really noticed her. Too busy with work during the day and Nightwing in the evening.

They got in the car and drove sedately away. No point in hurrying this meeting. Melanie was all business. Good. He didn't really feel like talking. "What happened to Susan Sarandon?"

"Stabbed in the back."

"Motive?"

"None that I could see."

"What do we know about her folks?"

Grayson looked down at the paperwork he had picked up in the station. "Father's a doctor. Mother is a receptionist at the local doctors." He put the paperwork down and carried on driving.

They pulled into the road next to the house. It was a nice house in the suburbs. The path to the front door wound through some nice topiary work and even had a small bridge over a pond. God he hated this bit.

He rang the bell. A ringing sound was heard deep inside the house. A scuffling sound started at the front door and he could see a small dog peering at them. It started barking and then the door opened. Mrs Sarandon was a small petite lady with bleached blonde hair and bright red lipstick. She was busy holding the dog by the collar and trying to look at the visitors.

"What is it dear? Are you selling something? Didn't you see the sign saying no door-to-door sellers? You're not a Jehovah's witness are you?"

"No ma'am. We are with the police. I'm afraid we've got some bad news for you…"

It never got any easier. There were always the old cops who said it only got easier when you stopped caring. Sometimes he thought it would be easier if he had stopped caring. After ten minutes trying to comfort her and assuring her that her daughter had died quickly and without pain (how did he know?) he made to walk out the door.

"One more thing," he said. He mentally cursed himself. He sounded like Columbo! "Was your daughter ever married or engaged?"

"No."

"Any boy friends that you know of?"

"No." Her mascara was running where she had been crying.

Melanie, after making sure that some friends were coming round to comfort Mrs Sarandon, followed him out.

"What was all that about?"

"What?"

"Asking about her boyfriends. She's just lost her daughter for God's sake! Haven't you any tact?"

"I need to find her murderer. She'd been wearing a ring. Find the ring, might find the murderer. Fiancés and boy friends give rings. Maybe they took it before they killed her."

"Couldn't that question have waited?"

He stopped and gave her a long slow studied look. "No." He carried on walking to the car.

"You are one cold bastard."

"Sir," he added.

"What?"

"I'm your boss. If you are going to insult me at least treat me with courtesy."

"Why? You didn't show her any?"

He gave her another appraising look. The kind of look that had made many a criminal start wimpering. Nothing. "I'm sorry, I kinda want get this guy before he kills again."

"How do you know he is a guy?"

"What?"

"That poor girl got murdered. We know that. How do we know it was a guy who killed her?"

"It's a supposition."

"Jeez, the way people talk about you they reckon you are the best detective in Bludhaven. You are talking about a supposition?"

"The body was on a gravel path. The only blood stains were underneath her showing she had fallen where she was stabbed. Blood spray was minimum indicating a stab wound to the heart killing her pretty much instantly. She was wearing heavy winter clothes. Difficult to stab through, indicating strength needed. She was also stabbed high on the shoulder, indicating the murderer was tall. She had her back to the murderer but she was on a gravel path so she must have heard him coming along unless she wasn't afraid of him or knew him. She didn't look like she had been running. I think she knew the murderer. So yes it is a supposition, I'm sorry, I'm not perfect."

"Okay so where are we going next?"

"What's this 'we'. There is not 'we' there is only me."

"Chief Inspector Corrigon said I was with you till the end of the day."

"Great. Well I don't need you trailing me like some mangy mutt."

Now it was her turn to look insulted. "Mangy mutt! I'm your colleague, _sir_."

Maybe he had gone too far. Too many years hanging round lowlifes and scum had eroded his personal skills. "I'm sorry Wilkinson, we got off on the wrong foot. We've got to interview this perp I arrested this morning in her apartment. You got interview skills?"

"I'm in the domestic division. We interview people all the time."

Grayson chuckled. "A few people throwing pots and pans at each other. I'm talking homicide. You keep quiet."

"You are so full of it."

He glanced over at her as he drove. She was starting to go an interesting shade of red. "How long have you been with the force?"

"Three years, sir."

God he was terrible at small talk. "You got any outside interests?"

Now it was her turn to smile. "This idea of interview technique?"

"Just making conversation."

"Just keep driving." She glanced over at him obviously thinking. "Why do you think she was engaged if she had been wearing a ring?"

"Women often wear a ring when they are engaged."

"You don't know women that well do you?"

"What do you mean?"

"She might just wear a ring sometimes to stop being hit on. Was she a looker?"

He thought back for a moment. She had nice bone structure a trim figure. "Yeah she was kinda nice."

"Did her flat have any signs of a man staying there?"

"I chased a guy out of her flat. That is who we are going to see."

She shook her head. "No I mean stuff like a Playstation, video games, shaving cream, condoms…"

Now it was his turn to go red. "I didn't check."

"So much for the great detective."

They pulled into the police station. He flashed his card and drove into the underground car park. In the corner several police cars were having bullet holes panel beaten out of them by a team of engineers. Pretty much a full time job for them.

They got out the car and walked into the station. In Interview room 12 their perp was waiting.

"Interview started at 10:32 am. Detectives Grayson and Wilkinson attending," he said into as he started the tape. "For the record could you say your name, sir?"

"Danny Goodyear… Daniel James Goodyear."

"Thank you Mr Goodyear. Do you know why you are here?"

He was a small thickset man with black hair and about two days growth of beard on his chin. He was missing one front tooth and his other had a gold filling. He even looked untrustworthy. Poor sucker, going through life with a face like that.

"Yeah I know why I'm here. Breakin' and enterin'. Just caution me and let me go, I'm a busy guy."

So much for all the interview classes he had been in. "Why did you choose that apartment Mr Goodyear?"

"I'm livin'next door to the broad who lives there." God do people actually call women broads? "I seen her go out in the mornin'. Some guy comes along a bit later, let's himself in. I hear him leave a few minutes later so I think, I'll help myself. It ain't right she should have nice stuff and I live in a dump. It ain't right at all."

"Do you know much about Susan Sarandon?"

"I know she is a snooty bitch. Never says "hi" to me. Treats me like dirt."

"Do you know if she has a boyfriend?" Jeez it makes her sound like a high school kid.

"I dunno. I know I ain't seen a guy round there for weeks."

"You had done before?" Said Melanie.

Grayson glanced at her. This was his interview. "Yeah I seen some guy there before."

"Was he the same man who went in her apartment this morning?"

"Yeah possibly I only saw the back of his head this morning."

"What did he look like?" She continued.

"Expensive suit, nice rolex, didn't look fake, nokia 7650. Real piece of work, if you know what I mean? Too good for our area."

Grayson butted in. "We mean physical description, sir. Endomorph, exomorph, ectomorph. Skin colour. Hair colour. Glasses. Not glasses. Distinguishing features like scars, tattoos, what colour suit?"

"Endo what? He weren't no alien."

Melanie glared at Grayson. "Was he fat or slim, sir."

"Slim. Dark brown hair. He was white or sorry is it caucasian? Suit looked like a real city slicker job. Pin stripe. Equilibro if I'm any judge. "

"What's equilibro?"

Now it was his turn to look at them with disgust. "Just because I live in a dive now don't mean I did always. I used to work in the stock market. Snorted all the money up my nose. Lost my house, car, wife and job. In pretty much that order. Yeah I know my suits."

Grayson said. "Thank you, sir. You'll be bound over and bailed. We'll mention to the court you have been co-operative. Interview terminated at 10:40 am."

Twenty minutes later Dick Grayson and Melanie Wilkinson were back on the road.

Melanie was uncommonly cheerful. "So what's the next plan chief?"

"Haven't you got another case you should be working on?" Growled Grayson.

"No, I'm with you all day."

"Well we're gonna check her apartment out now. Forensics have been taking prints, imprints and looking for any DNA traces of our new suspect. We need to see if they find any others."

They drove back to Susan Sarandon's apartment in silence. Dick growled monosyllabic answers to all Melanie's questions.

Smoke just started to pump out of the apartment block from the third floor.

"Oh my god!" Said Melanie.

Grayson picked up the radio and called it in. "I'm at the Nair house apartment block. There is a fire in Susan Sarandon's apartment. Please tell me the forensic team are not there."

"We've got two operatives covering the scene now, Lootenant." Came back the voice.

"Get the fire service and ambulance here right away. There will be casualties."

Dick parked at an angle outside the building and raced towards the door. Melanie was behind him. There were people trapped in the building. Possibly the police forensic team. He jabbed the fire alarm as he passed. Nothing. Figures it's broken like everything else in this damm building.

He turned back to Melanie. "Clear these apartments. Make sure everyone knows." He turned back to run up the stairs.

"Wait! Wait! Where are you going?"

He turned back. "To check on Sarandon's apartment. There is a police forensics team in there."

He ran along the corridor banging on each door with his hand in passing and shouting "Fire! Fire!" Her apartment was at the end. The door was closed. Police tape was covering it. Underneath the door could be seen the hellish glow of a fire. Black smoke was just starting to seep into the corridor. He really didn't want to but he knew he had to check the apartment. He opened the door with his foot and the corridor filled with evil smelling black smoke. In time honoured fashion he put a hanky over his mouth and walked into the apartment.

He could see nothing. Smoke filled the air. He couldn't see the source of the fire yet. His eyes started to weep due to the smoke and he started to cough. There on the floor. One of the forensic team. He had been hit on the head. He didn't have time to check for other injuries so he grabbed him by the arms and dragged him into the corridor.

There was one more in there. They always worked in pairs in crime scenes in case the perpetrator came back. This time he had and not even two armed policemen had been able to stop him. If it was a him he corrected himself, thinking of Melanie's earlier comments.

A foot came lancing out of the smoke and hit him in the stomach. If it wasn't for his years of on the job training and stomach muscles like iron he would have collapsed on the floor and been trying to work out how to breathe. Even with those advantages the kick pushed him against a wall and through a china cabinet. He rolled to his feet just before a baseball bat nearly took his head off.

He was coughing in the smoke and the perp who was trying to rearrange his face was wearing a gas mask. The next time the bat came whistling towards him he caught the bat and wrenched it from the thug's grasp. He then sent a scissor kick towards the man's stomach and was shocked when the thug grabbed his foot and span him to the floor.

He had underestimated him. If he did that again he would be dead. The smoke was getting in his lungs and slowing him down. He aimed a left punch at the man's stomach, was pleased to see the thug block it since he also punched his right fist through the man's gas mask and sent him flying through the flames and smoke of the apartment.

He had a rebreather in his utility belt. He was coughing badly and starting to see black spots in his vision. His questing hands found his rebreather and he was just about to put it in his mouth when the thug came looming through the smoke again and tried to kick him in the head. He blocked the kick but dropped the rebreather. The soles of his shoes were starting to melt in the fire.

He was having real trouble breathing and was slowing down. Another kick sent him crashing against the window. He hunched up and tried to block another punch but he was too slow and didn't see the punch that sent him crashing through the window and towards the street below…


	2. Chapter 2

With very grateful thanks to Cmar (long time no hear, I hope you are keeping well!) for the review and for everyone who has read it.

All reviews welcome!

**Chapter Two**

He was falling from the front of the building, there were no fire escapes to grab hold of, and he had no grappling hooks to use. Grayson suddenly felt wide-awake as the oxygen rushed to his brain and the adrenaline raced through his veins. Three storeys up and there was nothing to stop his fall but the sidewalk.

In his time in the police, he had seen enough suicides to know what the sidewalk could do to him at this height. Every bone would shatter and his blood would splatter the area. If he did survive, he would be unable to look after himself. That would be a fate worse than death as far as he was concerned.

He twisted in mid-air. There was only one thing that could save him and that was his car but it was a clear ten horizontal feet away and he could not fly to it.

He didn't need to.

He kicked the wall in passing and used his acrobatic skills to roll through the air. At the last second, he spun onto his back and went crashing onto the roof of his car.

His car caved in and he was in the middle of the roof dazed, battered but alive. Nervously he tried out his arms and legs. They all worked. Wincing in pain, he rolled off the roof and onto the ground. His legs nearly gave way but he was still alive. He looked up and could see the smoke pumping out of the remains of Susan Sarandon's apartment.

A fire engine came screeching to a halt beside him and the fire chief came running towards him.

"You don't want to know what you look like Grayson," said the fire chief. You alright? What have we got here?"

Grayson winced a bit, contained his pain and stood up. "There's a fire on the third floor. Just restricted to one apartment so far. There is a police forensic team in there. I got one out but the other one is still in there. Warn your boys to be careful. The perp is still in there. He damn near killed me and pushed me out the building. If it weren't for my Pontiac you'd be scraping me off the pavement."

"We'll wait for police backup before we go in then," said the fire chief. There were some more wailing sirens and three police cars pulled up next to them. Several heavily armed police officers got out.

"Hell Grayson, you don't know want to know what…"

"I've been told, I've been told," said Grayson irritably. He got his radio out of a pocket and was surprised to see it was crushed when that thug had kicked him in the stomach. "Can one of you smart alecs radio my partner? She's still up there?" One of the police officers threw a radio at Dick Grayson.

"I'm not your partner, Grayson," said a voice behind him.

He turned around and cracked a rare smile. "Good to see you got out."

"Yes, I took the stairs. You should try them some time." She dusted off his coat with one hand. "You don't want to know what you look…"

"Please, please," he said brushing her hand away. "I can look after myself." He looked up at building. Three heavily armed police officers were running in followed in short order by several firemen. A surge of jealousy erupted in him; he should be with them. Grayson discarded the thought with a shrug. He needed some rest first.

Seconds later his borrowed radio crackled to life. "We're in the apartment. Both the forensics team are dead. No sign of Grayson's perp. Fire crew are dampening down the flames now."

"Both of them are dead? Jeez that guy I dragged out was alive when I left him."

"He's dead now Grayson. Gunshot wound to the head."

"I heard no gun."

"Well there was a lot going on up…"

"I heard no gun; it must have had a silencer."

"So what's the plan now then?" Said Melanie. "We've just lost any evidence we were going to get from Sarandon's flat."

"Her place of work," said Grayson. "We go to her place of work. Ask a few questions. Upset a few suits and hopefully get some answers when they shout at us."

"You know how to make friends don't you," said Melanie. "One problem I can see?"

"What?"

"Your car has a nice Grayson shaped dent in the middle of it. The only place it is going in the scrap yard."

"No problem." He turned to one of the officers. "Hey Mitchell, can I borrow your wheels? I'll lend you my Pontiac?"

"Sure no problem. I've always fancied driving a car with a bit of speed." Mitchell threw his car keys at the same time that Grayson threw his.

Dick and Melanie just got in the car and were reversing out before there was a wail of despair from Mitchell as he realised what he had swapped his car for.

"That was evil," said Melanie.

"Funny though."

She chuckled. "I didn't know you had a sense of humour. Did you know there is an office sweepstake as to who will smile first you or that statue of Lincoln outside the station and that Lincoln is winning so far."

"Hey, I have a sense of humour."

"You? You're married to the job. Do you think of anything but law and order?"

"I do have a life outside work you know."

She looked over at him. "Judging by the look of you the only life you have outside work is the gym."

"Hey, I have other interests."

"What like knitting and helping old ladies with their shopping?"

He smiled again. "Is this your interview technique?"

"Can't blame a girl for trying. Are all your days this exciting?"

"What do you mean exciting?"

"Being thrown out of a three storey building. Most other officers I know would use that as an excuse not to come into work for at least a month. Hell most other officers I know would be dead after a stunt like that."

He shrugged. "Just naturally lucky I guess."

"Where are we going now?"

"Bludhaven City Bank Headquarters. Sarandon works," he tutted to himself, "worked there." He threw some papers over at Melanie. "Find out who her boss is, I'm driving." He cursed some luckless motorcyclist who cut him up.

She leafed through the paperwork. "Maurice Alford is her boss apparently. He's a director at the Bludhaven bank." She nodded to herself. "He's the director of Sales and Marketing North America. Sales and marketing? Is that like hanging around street corners selling hokey watches?"

He chuckled to himself. Despite himself he was beginning to enjoy her company. "You just leave the talking to me."

"Yes sir."

They drove to the car park at the back of the headquarters. He wound down the window and pressed a button to talk to the security guards. "Lieutenant Grayson and Officer Wilkinson to see Maurice Alford."

There was silence on the other side for a few moments then a female voice. "You aren't on our list of visitors Lieutenant."

"We won't be. We need to see Alford. It's about Susan Sarandon."

"Susan? She got herself into trouble again has she," the faceless voice said. "I'll buzz you two in. Visitor bay A5 is free, park up there and I'll let Mr Alford know you are on your way." With a creaking sound, the metal barrier lifted up.

"What do you suppose she meant by Susan getting herself into trouble again?"

"Don't know."

"Has she got any previous?"

"You've got her file there," said Grayson. "Has she got any record?"

"Nope. Well, nothing serious."

"What do you mean nothing serious?"

"Just seven parking tickets. All in the past six months. All paid up. Not even a speeding ticket."

Grayson pulled the car into the visitor spot and groaned as he opened the door and got out.

"You hurting sir? That was quite a tumble you took."

"I'll be fine. I'll be fine. Come on we've got to talk to Alford."

"Are you sure you're okay? You're hobbling a bit?"

"I've got a whiny sound in my ear, but otherwise I'm peachy."

They walked up to the glass doors, which hissed open in front of them. At the reception desk, two pretty blonde girls smiled as they walked in. "Lieutenant Grayson and Officer Wilkinson right?" He grunted at this and showed her his badge. "That's fine Lieutenant. If you two could wear these badges while you are in the building." She handed them two badges that said "VISITOR" in big letters on the front. She looked at him worriedly. "Are you okay Lieutenant, you look like…"

"I'm fine, I'm fine. Can you show us to Mr Alford please?"

"Certainly," she said. "Jane can you mind the desk for me? I'll just show these two upstairs." She looked over at Grayson. "Are you sure you're okay? Your nose is bleeding and you seem to be covered in soot."

"Just a day in the office," he muttered. "So did you know Susan then?"

"What do you mean did?" She picked up immediately. "Is Susan okay then?"

"Just answer the question."

"Yes I knew her. All the girls did. A real high flier. She started off in reception like me you know! Then ended up as Mr Alford's PA." She sounded quite disgruntled at this.

"I take it you weren't happy about this?"

"Well let's just say it wasn't her brains that got her where she did."

Melanie cut in. "Are you saying she slept her way to the top?"

"I'm not saying anything else."

"You ever thought of sleeping your way to the top in the police Wilkinson?"

She gave him a disdainful look. "I did think about it but the rewards would not be worth having to sleep with people like you." She smirked at this.

They walked through several offices, full of busy people talking on the phone, printing and photocopying. They got several glances as they walked through, but no comments. "This is his office here. Just knock and go in." The door was a dark burnished teak.

Grayson gave the door a sharp tap and there was a loud "Come in," from the other side.

Maurice Alford was a small tubby man with a perpetually red face. He got to his feet when they came in. He was one of these people who would sweat in the middle of the Antarctic. "Sit down, sit down," he said gesturing at two chairs. The chairs were a rich red leather. The room looked like it had been lifted from a Victorian manor, all dark brown oak panels and paintings of countryside and horses. Cut glass crystal decanters glinted in the light from the window. Half a dozen orchids were scattered about the room giving the room a splash of colour. "You must be from the police? Might I ask what this is about? I would get you a coffee but my PA has chosen this day of all days to not come in. She knows it's month end. She knows it is critical we get the figures out but she doesn't…"

Grayson cut in. "It is about Susan Sarandon we are here."

"About Susan? Why what's wrong with her. She's not…" He put a hand to his mouth, "dead is she? I mean why else would you be here?"

"She was found dead this morning, sir. If you don't mind we have a few questions about her."

"Poor old Susan," he sat back with a thump into his chair. His face went quite white. "Poor, poor old Susan."

"Were you having a relationship with Susan Sarandon?"

"She was a lovely girl you know. I know everyone in the office thinks she slept with me to get the job but she didn't you know. I would have loved it if she had, believe me I wouldn't have said no but no she didn't. She didn't need to. She was wasted on reception. Wasted. She had quite an amazing mind." He gave a smile. "She had to to organise my life and get the reports in. My masters in New York are just looking for cost cutting in this office and if weren't for her efficiency we would have been axed a long time ago."

"Can we search her desk and her e-mails please?" Asked Grayson. "I haven't a warrant at the moment but we can get one soon."

"Of course, of course," he said, whilst standing up, "you must do what you have to. Her desk is over there, under the plants pots and flowers."

There was a bunch of flowers on her desk. "These from you to her?"

"From me? God no."

"From her boyfriend then?"

"She doesn't," he corrected himself, "didn't have a boyfriend. Or not that I knew of anyway. She was always a chatty girl. She hated where she was living though. I was always on at her to leave. Something to do with her horrible neighbours no doubt. There was one nasty man who was always staring at her apparently." He shuddered. "What was his name? Goodyear? Danny Goodyear or something? A real creep from what she said. What happened to her? "

"We can't divulge that at the moment sir," said Grayson. He sat on her chair and cracked his knuckles. "Do you know her password?"

"No, but I can get someone in IT to get it for you, just a minute." One quick phone call later her password was reset and Grayson was looking through her e-mails with Melanie peering over his shoulder.

"Why does everyone get spam messages?" Said Melanie. "I mean she is a girl and she is getting messages about 'increase your girth, give your girlfriend more satisfaction.'"

"I'll look through these; you try and work out where the flowers came from."

Melanie picked up the flowers. "Well these are a mixed rose bouquet. Strange there is one dead flower in the middle." She sniffed them. "Very nice, certainly fresh. There is a card with them. 'Until tonight'. Is that it? 'Until tonight'? Not exactly romantic. Probably works for the police department. The flowers are from a shop called 'Happy Flowers'. They are just round the corner from here. Had she been getting lots of these flowers Mr Alford?"

"Well only for the past few weeks. They've been turning up daily. I was pleased for her. Thought she had found a decent man but I don't know, she just seemed worried when they turned up. I asked her about them but she always shrugged it off."

Melanie turned to Grayson. "Any interesting e-mails Dick?"

"Hey, it's Lieutenant Grayson to you, and there are some. Can your IT department give us a copy of all her personal e-mails and files from up the past six months?"

"I'll check, just a minute."

In a couple of minutes, a nervous looking IT man was standing in the office. He pushed his spectacles up his nose as he spoke. "What sort of files are you interested in?"

"Her e-mails mainly but any files she would have access to."

"That she has access to? Jeez that could be several hundred gigabytes of information. She had access to pretty much all the company files."

"Well you'd better get too it then."

"Well we'd need a day to get the data at least. The information is on several servers here. We've probably got a spare terabyte usb drive about." He squinted and looked up at the ceiling as he worked it out. "I could robocopy the files over tonight and cacls local user rights through the data to give you guys access. I can send it over by courier tomorrow morning if that is okay?"

"Thanks," said Grayson trying not to show that he understood none of that and nodded to the harassed looking IT guy as he left the office. "Melanie take a look at this." He pointed at the screen at several e-mails. "Look at this mail from '432u4fsfdkljsa ' Subject is Till tonight. I know what you did. Meet me at the Alabama bar on fifth street at 7.30, third booth. You don't turn up I spread the word and you are dead. S."

"From our murderer do you think?"

"This was sent this morning. Whoever sent this doesn't know she is dead."

"Could be a bluff? Besides we don't even know where is sent from?"

"Our tech boys can work that out. Do you fancy a date tonight Melanie?"

"Are you asking me out?"

"Did it work?"

"No."

"Well then no, I was just asking you to partner me to meet up with this person. Think of the overtime."

"You know the way to a girl's heart. And if we are going out tonight, you have got to get cleaned up. You look like the kind of thing a cat wouldn't just drag in but would go to the toilet on as well."

"Okay but let's check out the flower shop first. They must have a record of this. The geek squad can find out where the email was sent from."

Twenty minutes later they were standing outside "Happy Flowers". The sign was bright and clean and stood out against the grimy brickwork. The pavement outside had been freshly swept and even the bits of gum patiently picked off. Several signs told of sales and various bouquets from Parasol to Heaven scent. Another sign promised locally sourced flowers. Grayson glanced up and down the street to where a local gang was playing basketball next to a burnt out car. Can't blame them for the occasional white lie. Most of the flowers sold here would be wreaths.

He opened the door and there was a jingling sound. A small white haired lady bustled out and gave him a cheerful smile. "Hello sir, can I get you and your lady friend some flowers? Special occasion is it sir?" Her practised eye took in the lack of rings on their fingers. "You look a traditional man. Can I recommend red roses?"

Grayson said nothing just showed her his badge.

"No flowers then?" She sounded crestfallen.

"No flowers," said Melanie. "We would like to ask you a few questions."

"What about?"

"Mixed rose bouquet delivered to Bludhaven City Bank."

"I send a lot of flowers to there."

"You'll remember this one. One dead flower in the centre. Who sent them?"

"Now that was a strange order."

"Who sent them?" said Grayson.

"Let me check my files." There was a small office behind the counter and a gleaming black computer there. She reached behind it and picked up a huge battered pad. An elastic band held the pages to the current day. "My son got me the computer. Always on at me to modernise." She ran a green tinged finger down the paper and stopped at one line. "Oh I remember. He came in and paid by cash, yesterday 3:20. Tall he was. Dark brown hair."

Grayson looked around. "Where are the cameras?"

"What cameras dear?"

"Insurance would insist you have cameras. Where are they? How long do you keep the feed for?"

"We just have the one. Minimum we can get away with." She pointed at the ceiling. It was focused on the cash register.

"No others?"

"No dear."

"Where does it feed to?"

"The video is next to the computer. I change the tape daily. It takes pictures every 20 seconds I think?"

"Show me."

Half an hour later they had gone through the tape and drunk through half a mug of coffee each. It had the normal selection of men after flowers for their wives, sweethearts and mistresses, and may they never meet, said Grayson soundlessly. Finally they had the right time but the man buying the flowers never looked up at the camera. He must have known where it was. He even backed away slightly out of camera shot. Just the back of his head and an expensive suit.

"Can we keep this as evidence?" said Grayson to the old lady.

"Certainly dear," she smiled at them as she cleared away the two mugs.

An hour later and Grayson was back at his apartment. The place was expensively fitted out. Only the best for one of Bruce Wayne's sons. It was smart but it had none of the clash of styles that a couples place has. The Xbox nestling against a scatter cushion and a bowl of pot pouri. The grinning pictures showing the couple cuddling under some monument. There was one picture of him with Bruce Wayne, taken a few years ago. Grayson grinning like an idiot and Bruce Wayne struggling to look stern. One picture showed his parents but it was old and washed out. He didn't have many pictures of him as a child.

A bookcase took up one wall. It was piled high with reference books. Several of them had various yellow post-it notes marking pages in.

There was a cork board that took up most of one wall and a big map of Bludhaven on it. The map was filled with holes from where he had carefully placed pins in it to try and determine a pattern.

He carefully placed a pin in it to show where Sarandon had been killed. Another to show her flat and a third to show the bank.

His phone rang. He picked it up after the second ring. "Grayson."

"We traced your email El Tee."

He grunted in response.

"It came from nowhere."

"What?"

"Must have been bounced around the system. We traced it to a server farm in Kansas but it certainly ain't in Kansas no more."

"What do you mean?"

"It was heavily encoded and used several aliases. It weren't sent by a standard perp."

"So you got nothing." He thought for a moment. "You got the data from the bank yet?"

"Nope."

"Hurry it up and let me know when you have something."

Seven twenty five and Dick Grayson and Melanie Wilkinson were in the Alabama bar trying to look like a couple so they would blend in.

"Well hold my hand then, sir, we are supposed to look like a courting couple."

"Don't call me sir."

She giggled. "It is more realistic. People will think I'm a secretary having an affair with my boss. What do you want me to call you? Richard? Dick? Ricky? Dicky? Boss man? Lieutenant?"

"Just call me Richard. And while you're busy talking keep an eye for this man we are meant to be meeting."

"What type of suit did that guy that you arrested earlier say the perp had on?"

"An equilibro suit and a Rolex. He was slim with dark brown hair. Ouch! Why are you digging your nails in? Is this how you treat all your boy friends? No wonder you are still single."

She whispered in his ear. "He's just walked in the place behind you. He's looking around. He's looking in bay three. Now he's going."

Grayson got to his feet and turned around. The well-dressed perp was just walking out of the bar. He pulled out his badge. "Bludhaven Police Department. Could I ask you a few questions, sir?"

The man drew a gun and shot at Grayson. He threw himself to the ground as the bullet tore overhead and smashed several Scottish single malt whisky bottles behind the bar. The man didn't stay to see the effect of this and he ran out of the bar and into the street.

Grayson ran out after the perp, shouting at Melanie to call for backup. This guy was fast, there was no doubt about that but he was faster.

The man ran out into the road, cars veered to stop hitting him. Grayson leapt over the bonnet of a moving car and jumped onto the hood of another car. He then grabbed a lamppost and swung himself into the path of the perp.

The shocked look on the man's face was one that would live with him for a long time. He grabbed the perp by the collar and moved his face to within an inch of his.

"I've got a few questions slime ball. Do you want to do them here or down at the station." He threw him into some garbage cans. "Either suits me."

The man tried to draw a gun but his hand didn't even leave his jacket pocket before Grayson's hand was crushing his arm. "Try that again punk and I'll feed you that gun."

The man held his arm with one hand his face grey with pain. "That bitch Sarandon send you did she? It won't do any good." The man grinned. "Or you 'cause you are dead!"

Grayson turned to see a car mount the pavement behind him and head straight for him.


	3. Chapter 3

With very grateful thanks to Cmar the review and for everyone who has read it.

All reviews welcome!

**Chapter Three**

If they had aimed a car at 99.99% of people they would be cleaning bits of person out of the radiator for weeks.

Grayson was not just anyone. He had been trained by the best. He jumped into the air spinning like a cat as he went and came down on the bonnet. The perp he had been trying to arrest wasn't so lucky and was clipped by the car and sent flying 30 feet into a shop window. He wouldn't get much from him but his blood group. The car was a Pontiac G6 4 door sedan. By the engine sound it had been souped up.

He was thumped down hard onto the bonnet as it bounced off a wall and back into the street. He had one set of fingers in the grill and the other on the windscreen wiper. That wouldn't hold for long.

He looked up and could see his partner give a shocked look as he took off up the road. There was several screams from passers-by. He could see the face of the driver. Medium height, white guy, dark brown hair. Clean white teeth. Looks too old to be natural white. Probably use whiteners. Expensive suit.

Probably his perp.

Was he after him or the guy he was trying to arrest? The car took the sidewalk again and scraped against a wall. Grayson pulled his feet in and threw the guy an evil glare. If he thought he could be shaken off he was mistaken.

"Ooof!"

He was having a damn good go though. He took a kerb at what must have been 40 mph. He was going to have some bruises in the morning. Bruises heal. He needed to get through the windscreen and he didn't have the leverage to kick it at this angle.

It didn't matter.

Grayson could punch through glass. Years of practice had gone into it. Punching solid objects for hours on end. Each punch getting micro fractures in his hand. When the fractures heal they heal tougher. Thousands of punches, thousands of fractures and now a punch that could shatter stone walls.

Would he get a chance to use it though?

What the hell?

The man had a gun in his right hand while steering with his left. M1911, single action, semi-automatic pistol. Probably untraceable. They had made millions of them.

Was he stupid enough to fire while driving?

Crack!

That was a yes. He fired through the windscreen at him. Grayson felt the bullet pass over his shoulder. He didn't waste time glaring at the loser he just punched through the already weakened glass and grabbed the driver with one hand. He tried to fire again but Grayson had already got hold of his wrist and he twisted it making him drop the gun.

He didn't see the hydrant.

The car stopped in a plume of water that rivalled one of Yellowstones Geysers. Grayson didn't stop and was sent flying.

This was old school acrobatics for him and he grabbed a lamppost two handed and spun around to slow his momentum and sent himself flying back towards the car. His feet found the ground and he rolled several times and got to his feet.

He felt angry.

Don't get angry Batman had drilled into him.

By the time he focused he could see his perp was running up the street. Melanie was running up towards him. "Wilkinson, stop him!" He barked whilst finding his feet. "He's got a gun!"

The man spun around at this and drew his pistol like an old style cowboy. He fired once and Grayson hit the pavement hard and rolled behind a beat up chevy. Bits of broken windscreen fell on him like glistening hailstones. Another bullet banged into the car and made the whole thing shake.

Bang.

Another bullet but where did it go?

He risked a quick glance up to see the man firing at Wilkinson now. Fortunately she had hidden behind a car now as well. Four bullets. He had three left. He could see Wilkinson was drawing her piece as well. She was shaking. She looked frightened from here.

Good fear will stop her being killed.

He didn't have time for fear.

The man sprinted down the street knocking over screaming passers-by in his wake. Grayson got to his feet and ran after him. Wilkinson was still crouched by the car. "Get up Wilkinson! Call for backup."

Something about her silence stopped him. Perp or partner? He looked down at her and could see one hand clutched to her shoulder. Blood oozed out between her fingers. "Damn it! Keep pressure on that." He got out his phone. "Grayson here. Officer down. Repeat officer down. Gunshot wound to shoulder. Perp is not in area. Repeat not in area. Request backup ASAP" He kicked the car in frustration leaving a sizeable dent in the door. "Damn it Wilkinson couldn't you have kept your head down?"

She tried to smile at him. "You could have told me that before? Jeezus."

"You ever been shot before?"

"Only on camera. I was young, I needed the work!" She quipped.

He gave a smile.

"I made the great Lieutenant Grayson smile!" She tried to stand up.

"Stay down. Keep talking to me. Apply pressure. Can you move your hands and feet."

"Yes sir," she said quietly.

"I'm going to check your back for exit wounds. Don't get any funny ideas."

"Yes sir."

"Bullet is still in there." He picked up his phone again. "Where is my ambulance!" He turned back to her. "Keep talking to me." He was not good with small talk. He always found it ironic that his costumed persona was a wise cracking hero and his "real" one was a brooding cop. Almost the exact opposite of Bruce and Batman. "What do you do outside work?"

"Me?" She winced. "I like cooking. I do a bit of modern jive. Won the State championship too," she said proudly. "What do you do outside work? Dancing? I can't see you in sequins and a leotard."

He chuckled. "This is about you."

"I'm not going to make it am I?"

"What? Why?"

"You smiling and laughing? You can't let that get back to the station? That Grayson is actually human?"

"You'll be fine."

He could hear the sounds of sirens in the distance.

"No I won't." She was looking paler and started shaking. "I want you to promise me something?"

"What?"

"That if I survive you cook me a meal."

He laughed. "I don't think you will survive that."

"Then I cook you a meal."

"Maybe. We'll see." An ambulance lurched to a stop five feet from her and two men, in dark blue to hide the blood stains, dashed out the back with a stretcher.

Ten minutes later they were in the back of the ambulance. Wilkinson was on gas and air for the pain and Grayson was brooding. This was getting personal.

"She'll be fine sir," said one of the paramedics to him.

"Good."

"She'll get the best care we can."

Who was the guy? What was he doing?

"You do that."

"Has she got any family, husband, boyfriend, girlfriend?"

"What?"

"Your partner sir," he said patiently. "Who should we let know."

"I don't know, she doesn't talk much."

The ride to the hospital was smooth, the driver doing his best not to jolt the victim more than necessary.

Thump.

What was that?

A hole had appeared in the side of the ambulance swiftly followed by another.

"Keep driving," he said and opened the back of the ambulance. They were driving down a road. Red brick brownstones were either side and behind them a motorcyclist. He was dressed in black leather and shooting a pistol at them. Did he think he could stop an ambulance with a pistol?

"Jeezus."

Behind the motorcyclist was a big beat up white van. The side door of it opened up and there was a man with an RPG in it. Someone really doesn't want them to investigate this.

There was a whooshing sound and the harsh crump of the RPG as it hit the road.

That was lucky. Won't be that fortunate again. The ambulance door was swinging back and forth in the slipstream. He could see the perp in the van try to reload.

It was about five meters away. He could jump to it. "Keep her steady!" he shouted to the driver. God knows if he heard or not. He took a step back and then threw himself out of the ambulance towards the van. He could see the driver open his mouth in shock at this suicidal cop. He got hold of the bonnet with one hand and punched through the windscreen with the other. Anyone else would be looking at 5 weeks waiting for their knuckle bones to heal up. "You are under arrest," he said to the driver as he pushed himself through the shattered windscreen. "You have the right to remain silent when questioned." He headbutted the driver and took control of the wheel. "Anything you say or or do may be used against you in a court of law." The driver was thrown back on the seat, his nose streaming blood. "You have the right to consult an attorney before speaking to the police and to have an attorney present during questioning now or in the future." The man drew a small wickedly curved blade. "If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you before any questioning, if you wish." Grayson still had one hand on the wheel as he levered his body into the driving seat. The ambulance was careering up the road with the motorcyclist still in pursuit. He irritably slapped the knife out of the perps hand. "If you decide to answer any questions now, without an attorney present, you will still have the right to stop answering at any time until you talk to an attorney." The man lunged at him with the knife so Grayson knocked him out with a short sharp punch to the chin. "Knowing and understanding your rights as I have explained them to you, are you willing to answer my questions without an attorney present." He slowed down the van and looked at the seat next to him with the unconscious perp on it. "The arrestee invoked the right to silence."

He slammed the brakes on in the van and the perp in the back with the RPG ran to the driver's side. Grayson kicked the door open knocking him into the road. He got out and slammed him none to gently on the side of the van. "Don't tell me I have to read your rights as well?"

Melanie woke up feeling woozy. The gas and air was fighting against the pain of the bullet wound. What was going on? She could see Richard standing next to her looking worried. She had never seen him look worried before. He always had that tense brooding look that made most of the women in the office go wobbly at the knees not that she had ever thought that before. She always thought he was no conversation, no smile and no personality.

In the past few hours, she had definitely been proven wrong. She tried to look up to see what was happening. He had gone! He just leapt out of the back of the ambulance while it was driving!

Was he mad?

She felt so weak. Hope it is not a bad wound. The ambulance was veering from side to side to now.

What is going on?

"Ouch!" she moaned quietly as her head hit the back of the ambulance. The juddering was painful and tendrils of agony permeated through the gas and air. What was going on with the driver.

There was a screech of brakes and the ambulance stopped. Must be at Bludhaven General already.

She tried to get to her elbows and look through the doors, which were still open. Grey unwashed concrete. Someone had tried to cheer it up with some purple graffiti in the name of "El Dorado". City of Gold? Yeah right.

What the hell?

A man in an expensive suit and dark brown hair leapt casually into the back of the ambulance. He had a pistol in one hand. "Miss Wilkinson?"

She didn't say anything just pressed a button her phone under the blankets.

"We'll be taking over from here."

"What do you want?" she said. She was surprised at how weak and husky her voice was.

"You and Grayson are investigating something you shouldn't be."

"We are police officers! You can't do this!"

He chuckled to her. "Oh but I can."

She tried to get to her feet but she felt weak. "Damn you." With her one good arm she tried to walk out the ambulance. "Get out of my way!"

He sideswiped her with the pistol as she tried to walk past and she fell back on the stretcher unconscious her phone falling behind the gurney.

Grayson was on his phone next to the van. The two perps were unconscious. He had put them into the recovery position. Where had that motorcyclist gone?

"This is Grayson here, get me a car now. I've got two on ice here. Get a call to Bludhaven General as well. I want to know as soon as Wilkinson is there."

A police car pulled up within a minute. "Alright LT," said one of the cops. "You've got two for us? Have you read them their rights?"

"Yes I read them both their rights. Not sure whether they were paying attention mind."

"What are they in for?"

"Trying to run a civilian ambulance off the road using an RPG."

"If they wanted an ambulance they could have just dialled 911."

"Take them back to the station. I'm coming with you. I want to interview them myself."

"Yes sir."

"Can you get someone to Bludhaven General as well. Wilkinson is there."

"What?"

"Shot in the shoulder."

"Yes sir."

"And chase up the data from the bank. Someone killed Sarandon for a reason."

"Yes sir."

"And get me a car."

"Yes sir."

"And a coffee."

"Yes sir."

"Are you actually doing any of this stuff or just saying yes sir in the hope I will go away."

"Yes sir, I mean no sir. We have a report coming in of a missing ambulance. Bludhaven have lost contact with one. I think it is the one carrying your partner sir."

"Get out of the car."

"What?"

"I'm driving. Get out of the car."

The other officer shuffled over to the passenger seat, kicking several old doughnut wrappers out of the way. "What about those two to take back to the station?"

"Call someone else in."

Grayson thumbed the switch for the sirens and turned the car in a tight circle back the way it had come. "Despatch this is Grayson. What is the latest on the missing ambulance? Where was it last seen?"

"About 2 km from your current position."

"Details."

"Errm. Fourth on the right from where you are now."

"Is GPS tracking on?"

"Well it was but it seems to have been switched off."

"Can you track Wilkinson's phone?"

"I will need authority from…"

"Get it now!"

He floored the accelerator and the car shot through the streets. This was the new part of Bludhaven, built after Chemo had exploded and spread his toxic load over the town. A layer of clay and granite and ten meters of clean top soil made the place habitable again. Within six months though the clean and tidy streets had reverted back to the dirty grimy look of old. Empty liquor bottles were scattered over the sidewalk and several old homeless people glared at him as the cop car sped past.

Barely slowing down he turned a corner past a basketball court. The car jolted as it flew over poorly repaired pot holes. It was rumoured that homeless families lived in the sewers and that they had carved their own homes out of the bedrock. The local paper said that they lived off toxic waste and and had mutated into monsters. However the local paper also said Elvis worked at the shopping mall and ran a pizza takeaway.

"You are nearly at the last location of the ambulance LT."

There was a huge concrete flyover here. The underpass was dark and grimy. What was the ambulance doing going here? A dark blue van drove past going the other way to them.

"You're there LT."

He braked the car and ran out. He got out his gun, the stock felt rough in his hand. He didn't like using a gun but in his job it was necessary sometimes. The smell of smoke, garbage and urine hit his nose.

Cautiously he walked into the darkness. The sidewalk was uneven under his feet. Where was this ambulance? In a few seconds his eyes adjusted to the dark. He had always had superb night vision.

"Do you need backup LT?"

"Stay here."

"What?"

Grayson ignored him. There was a chain-link fence at the end and a gate with a big rusty chain wrapped casually around it. The padlock looked new and gleaming though. Without pocketing the gun, he clambered over it in seconds and landed softly the other side. This was a junk yard here. About a dozen old and rusting cars were nestled softly under here. The steady thrum of the traffic above him on the overpass permeated the silence.

Where was it?

Broken glass crunched under foot here. He could hear the scrape of tiny claws climbing over the cars. Dozens of small rodent eyes were staring at him.

There it was just behind some graffiti saying El Dorado. It had been parked up and badly hidden behind some old rusty cars. The doors were still open. He leapt into the back of it.

Empty.

Breathe deeply.

Concentrate.

What happened here?

He felt the stretcher bed. Still warm. She was here not long ago. There was drop of blood on the floor.

Fresh.

Dusty footprints in the ambulance.

This was a crime scene and would need proper investigating. He backed out carefully so as not to disturb it any more than needed.

His phone crackled to life. It was struggling to find a signal in the underpass.

"This is Grayson, I've got the ambulance but no sign of Wilkinson or the drivers. Get a forensic squad here ASAP. I must have just missed them."

He glanced in the back of the ambulance.

What happened here?

That motorcyclist must have forced them to drive here at gunpoint and then another vehicle came and took them away.

She wouldn't have gone willingly. He felt rather than saw the baseball bat. He ducked as it nearly took his head off and it smashed into the side of the ambulance.

He rolled backwards and got to his feet. There was a giant of a man there with a gas can in one hand and a lighter in the other. Obviously here to burn the evidence and him with it if he didn't watch out. Must have moved like a ghost to be able to creep up on him.

The man was tall and dressed in black leathers. Probably the motorcyclist. He was twice his size.

"I'm gonna take your head off punk!"

"You're welcome to try."

Before the man had a chance to swing the bat, Grayson rolled and kicked him viciously in the knee. He cried out in pain and he punched him in the solar plexus and then elbowed him in the chin.

He was down in about two seconds and he hadn't even broken a sweat. His radio crackled to life again. "This is Grayson I've got another for the cells. Read him his rights when he comes to."

Something caught his eye in the back of the ambulance. Wilkinson's phone. He went in and picked it up. It was recording. He stopped it and then could smell petrol. The man had already poured gas under the ambulance and was just about to light it when he came along.

He looked out to see the man stagger to his feet with a lighter in one hand, which he threw to the ground. His other hand slammed the ambulance door shut with him inside it.

"Oh boy."


	4. Chapter 4

With very grateful thanks to Cmar the review and for everyone who has read it.

All reviews welcome!

**Chapter Four**

Melanie woke up shaking. She felt dizzy and gasped for air. Her head hurt, her shoulder hurt and she couldn't move her foot.

Where was she?

It was cold. Her teeth were chattering. Was that the fear or the cold?

A low moan escaped her lips. She felt sick. Stop complaining and do something. She tried to sit up. Her arm felt heavy by her side. Someone had roughly bandaged her gunshot wound. It hurt but at least it wasn't bleeding.

Where was she?

Her mouth felt dry. There was a bottle of water and a pack of dorito's next to the bed she was on. The place smelt damp and rotten.

She tried to put her feet on the floor and then she realised she was chained to something. She was attached to a rusty manacle, which was chained to a bolt in the floor. There was the acrid smell of a chemical toilet in the corner. An old steel chair was in the other corner.

The floor was cold and gritty.

Well whoever it was who put her here wasn't wanting her dead. Or at least not straight away.

What was she doing here?

She was thirsty and put the bottle of water to her lips. Then she stopped. Was it poisoned? Was it drugged? Was she being watched? Her eyes took in every square foot of the room. No windows. A steel door was on one side. A small hatch was in the middle of it. Plain concrete walls. No obvious camera. It was lit by a yellow halogen bulb that was festooned with spiders webs.

If this was a hotel it wouldn't win any stars.

What was the opposite of a star for a hotel?

A moon?

If this place had a moon it would be by the biggest, smelliest, most unhygienic ape that had ever knuckled across this planet.

She walked up to the door and started banging on it with one hand. "Hey room service!" There was silence. "What kind of hotel is this? I wanna pizza and a glass of Chablis! Lightly chilled. What time does the pool open? Room service! Goddam it! Answer someone!"

The echoes of her banging the door faded away.

Nobody there.

Nobody answering at any rate.

How to escape?

She checked her pockets. Nothing they had been emptied out. No phone, no gun.

Penelope Pitstopp could escape with just her little old nail file.

No nail file.

How to get out of the manacle. It was a one size fits all and she was slim. Could she just push her ankle out?

Come on. It can't be worse than child birth. After a minute and a badly grazed ankle she gave up. She couldn't get out without losing a few toes.

There must be something here to help. The bed was made of a steel frame. One of those self-built ones. Sturdily made. Normally needs a special spanner or ratchet for it. Never able to find the same tool again when you need to take it apart.

She always taped it to the frame after building whatever it was. That way she could always take it apart again.

Who had built this? Would they have done the same?

She felt next to the frame. Nothing apart from some irate spiders. Check the other side. Be methodical. Don't panic. Nothing.

Check the legs. Nothing on first or second. Third one! There was a small plastic bag taped to the leg, hidden from view and a small ratchet and allen key in there. She ripped open the bag and started to take the bed apart one handed.

Difficult but not impossible. In under two minutes she had several steel bars.

Find a link in the chain that looks weak.

Right. Lever it open.

The first bar snapped.

Take it more gently the next time.

No good the bar is bending more than the link. Turn the bar around try it again.

No good snapped.

Don't cry. What good has crying ever done anyone?

One decent steel bar left.

Yes! The link gave up the struggle and snapped open. She was free!

Don't get excited yet. Just one steel door and an unknown number of kidnappers to get past yet.

The door hinge had four screws that needed a blade type to undo. She had no screw driver. She looked at the floor at the dismantled bed. If she could flatten one end of one of the metal pipes. She put one end under the chair leg and sat down on it. For the first time ever she wished she was a bit fatter. After a bit of effort and jumping up and down it was flattened.

Could she use it as a screwdriver?

Well it fits. What was the old saying again? Righty tighty. Lefty loosy. Her one good arm strained at it. It was put in well. She tried again and realised she was crying.

Do you want to die here?

She tried again and it loosened!

Twenty minutes of hard work later and the door was hanging off the lock. Had nobody heard this? Taking a steel bar as a weapon and one tucked into her belt as backup she levered open the door and squeezed painfully through her top tearing on the frame.

There must be nobody about. She had made enough noise to wake a statue and send it back to the stone mason complaining he had made their nose look bent.

Where was she?

There was another flickering yellow light in the corridor. Washed concrete walls and concrete floor. She could hear the steady thrum of air conditioning. Was she underground? Some kind of underground cell? A basement of some building? Maybe a bomb shelter of some kind? Probably used by an end of the world cult.

Who had kidnapped her?

She could hear voices up ahead and the thump of boots on concrete. A metal door slammed shut in the distance

Several men by the sound of it.

And walking towards her.

Grayson threw himself to the door of the ambulance. Slow. Too slow. Damn it! It was locked. He gave the door his best akido kick. Nothing but bruised toes. The floor beneath him was starting to heat up and the place was starting to fill with acrid smoke. He tried kicking the door again.

Nothing.

Once more for good measure. A kick that would level Bane and rattle Superman's teeth.

Still nothing.

He must have put something against it. He remembered seeing a pile of old railway sleepers. One of those against the door would stop him escaping.

He started coughing.

Think Grayson think!

It was a variant of a Volkswagen Crafter.

Something useful!

Thick black smoke was filling the air clouding his view and slowing him down. There was a small window leading to the driver's seat. He might not be able to kick the door down but a small window was a different story. One short sharp karate kick later and the window was shattered. The airflow encouraged the flames, which were starting to eat through the bottom of the ambulance. He squeezed through to the drivers seat and kicked out the side door and rolled out.

Behind him was a roaring sound as the flames started to eat up the side of the ambulance turning the vehicle into a funeral pyre.

Ooof!

The man with the baseball bat tried to hit his head a home run. At the last milisecond he saw it and ducked. His arm wasn't so lucky.

His left arm was useless and pain lanced into his brain making him howl in pain.

He tried to roll away from the attack but his arm was incredibly painful. Was it broken? It felt broken. Badly bruised at any rate and useless for at least the next ten minutes. Wincing with agony he got to his feet and the thug tried to hit him again. This time he danced back on the balls of his toes the bat whistling past his nose.

He tucked his left hand into his jacket to try and protect it.

"If you won't burn I'll just have to break every bone in your body." He leered at Grayson. "No witnesses! It's up to me how to make sure of that. Your arm hurt does it son?"

Grayson ignored him and fixed him with his own personal Bat glare.

"Oh! Trying to stare me to death are you!" He chuckled. "I've been eyeballed by bigger men than you buttercup." He rubbed his chin ruefully. "You pack a mean punch for a little girl though. I owe you for this. And my knee. Your arm is just the first of…" The man cried out in pain as Grayson kicked the bat out of his hand and tried to jab him in the throat with his good arm.

"Enough talking moonpie," said Grayson.

The man fell back against an old car. The crackling flames of the ambulance showed his features in sharp relief. "Oh your good. Real good! This is gonna be more fun than I thought. Your gonna have to punch harder than that though." He coughed and then drew out a wicked curved blade from his belt. The knife glinted and glowed yellow from the flames. "What's your name boy? I like to know who I am killin'."

Grayson was breathing hard. His face was grey as the pain from his arm hit him hard.

"Don't like talking then boy?" He chuckled to himself and lumbered towards him. "You know we got your partner boy?"

"What?"

"Thought I should tell you before you go?"

"Where is she?"

"That don't concern you son." He drew out another knife from his belt. "I'm gonna cut you up boy and have a nice little policeman barbecue. Arm hurting you is it buttercup?"

"Where is she!"

"She'll be screaming by now boy."

"WHERE IS SHE!"

"Real shame to miss it. Still I'll enjoy cutting you up." He walked towards Grayson confidently. Grayson backed away as if in fear. He clattered against another old car. Trapped now. Nowhere to go.

"You'll tell me where she is!"

"Why should I do that sugarpie?"

"Because," he kicked one knife out of his hand, "I," he kicked the other knife out of his hand, "asked," he headbutted him viciously, "nicely." With his good arm he wrapped it around his neck and dragged the thug painfully round so he was facing the flames. "Don't make me ask again."

"What are you doing?"

Grayson pushed the thug towards the flames. He could feel the heat on his good arm.

"God no!"

He pushed him further towards the flames. The heat was really intense. Red sparks fluttered up and scorched his hair.

"They'll kill me!"

"Not if I kill you first!"

"God no! I'll talk!" He tried to get a piece of paper from his pocket. "I've got the location here. Just let me go!"

Grayson pushed him contemptuously away and picked up the bit of paper. "You'll be doing some hard time for this."

"They were just going to kidnap her. Scare her a bit. Get you off the trail." The thug coughed. "Last I heard they changed their mind. Can't have any witnesses. It's too big you see. They'll kill her and soon."

"You're lying."

The paper had some map co-ordinates on it. In town. Just a few blocks away. "You're coming back to the station punk."


	5. Chapter 5

With very grateful thanks to Cmar and Spikehair for the reviews and for everyone who has read it.

All reviews welcome!

**Chapter Five**

Grayson dragged the punk to the out of the scrap yard to the police car. The man was complaining all the time. One of the officers, Captain Chris Bridges was standing by his car. The first fire truck screeched to a halt 20 feet away firemen jumped and scrambled in all directions. The acrid smoke of the burning ambulance still filled the air. Professionally the fire crew surrounded it and put the flames out.

"What the hell are you looking at!" shouted Grayson's perp. He tried to headbutt Grayson but he pushed him to the car.

"Lock him up."

"Yes sir LT. You are just collecting perps today."

"I'm calling police brutality on you!" The perp pointed at Grayson. This was difficult because he was in handcuffs. "He beat me up! Damn near killed me!"

Captain Bridges chuckled. "You probably deserved it."

"I want him reported!"

"We will fill in the report back in the station."

The perp started coughing. "He punched me in the throat!"

"For god's sake," said Grayson. "Get him to the station and process him. We've got a burnt out ambulance back there as well. The one Wilkinson was in. I want a CSI team there as soon as it is cooled. I have got the co-ordinates of where she is. I just need a car."

The perp collapsed in front of him he was starting to go red as if he couldn't breathe. "Jeezus LT he has just collapsed!"

"Watch him he is playing with you. I need to get to…"

"He isn't playing LT. Call an ambulance."

Grayson cursed to himself and got his phone. "I need an ambulance here now. Yes another ambulance."

"He's not breathing sir and I can't feel a pulse!"

"For gods sake do CPR!"

"Nothing is working. We are losing him!"

Grayson got on his hands and knees next to him. "I'll do the compressions you do the breaths, get a breathing barrier from the car. Thirty compressions to two breaths. Come on damn it! Have you got a defib in the car?"

"Yes."

"Get it!"

Grayson opened up his shirt and set about attaching the pads. He wasn't in a rhythm that could be shocked so they carried on working on CPR as best they could.

A paramedic arrived on a motorbike. "We are losing him. We need to put an airway in him. Have you a suction unit?"

"Yes sir."

Grayson suctioned the airway which was filling with blood. What had happened to him? It wasn't his beating that did this surely?

"Say when you want me to stop sir," said the Paramedic.

"Will do give me another second." He pushed the airway into his throat and starting ventilating. It was bubbly at first but air seemed to be going in. The chest still wasn't rising properly though.

What is wrong with him?

Grayson turned to the paramedic. "You got any more gloves on you?" His were covered in blood now.

"Stand back please sir," said the paramedic starting to take control. "I'm going to put a cannula roll in. Can you keep up decompression. The ambulance will be here shortly."

Ten minutes later and the ambulance finally arrived. Nothing. He was dead. Several more officers were investigating the burnt out ambulance

"I didn't hit him that hard," said Grayson to Bridges. "Damn it I didn't hit him that hard!"

"Wait for the coroners report I am sure you will be fine. There will be an investigation. I have to take you off duty pending the enquiry."

"For god's sake Wilkinson is still missing! I've got the co-ordinates here." He gave the paper to Bridges. "Just get to her! Please!"

"Sure." Bridges phone rang. "Just a minute." He looked at Grayson and his face hardened. He drew his gun. "Lieutenant Grayson I am placing you under arrest."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"That ambulance that burnt out and you were in. They just found a body. A young woman with Wilkinson's ID. Badly burnt."

"What the hell?" said Grayson. "It was empty I swear it! I didn't burn it down! That perp did! She wasn't in there!"

"The one you conveniently killed."

"I didn't kill him! You saw what happened!"

"I saw a badly beaten man collapse and die, probably from injuries sustained from you. And your partner is dead. He deserved it I'm sure. Sorry Grayson you can't be on the streets. I've got to take you in till we get this mess sorted out."

"We need to get to Wilkinson!"

"Haven't you been paying attention LT! Your partner got shot and then burnt in that ambulance and you beat the thug to death. Back away. Lie down on the road. I don't want to shoot you LT. That's good. Put your hands behind your back. I'm going to handcuff you. Don't make this any worse than it has to be. Don't make me shoot you. You know I am good with this piece."

Twenty minutes later he had been read his rights and was sat in one of the station holding cells. His colleagues tried not to look at him as he was escorted down.

What the hell just happened? This was just the drunk tank. Plain grey cement walls. One side stained from the last visitor. An acrid smell of vomit filled the air. The mattress was thin, old and even with the frequent bleaching it got, stained. How many others had sat on this bed wondering where it all went wrong?

Damn it! Can't spend any more time here. He kicked the door in frustration. Should he have escaped while being driven here? He could have. He knew he could have but was it wise? This was his job, he can't just jack it all in. Must be a way to sort out this mess.

Was that Wilkinson in the ambulance?

A cold sick feeling filled his stomach and he could feel tears prick his eyes.

God damn it.

She isn't dead.

His cell door was opened and he was escorted quickly to one of the interview rooms. The Sergeant in charge was a huge lumbering ape of a man. With the type of scum walking the streets of Bludhaven it needed someone in charge of the cells who could bludgeon down anyone.

Grayson didn't really know the man. Few people did. He sat down on one of the chairs.

The wrong side of the table.

He shouldn't be on this side. On one side of the room was the one way mirror. Who was standing the other side of it? Who was looking in?

Bridges walked in. "Interview started 8:37. Captain Bridges leading the interview. Can you confirm your name?"

"You know my name."

"For the benefit of the tape. Confirm your name."

"Grayson."

"Full name. Don't play games Grayson. We wanna get this sorted as well as you."

"Lieutenant Dick Grayson."

"Thank you. You know why you are here?"

"A perp collapsed."

"The man had a name."

"Enlighten me."

"Tony Bowers." Bridges sighed and opened up a blue folder he had with him and started reading from a piece of tightly . "Small time hood. Used to run for the Giovatti clan before that Nightwing guy broke them up. Burnt his school down when he was 8. In and out of correction facilities for ten years. Did some time for drug running when he was 20. Got involved with the Giovatti's then before Nightwing got the number on them and they got 20 years to life each. You wanna coffee?"

Grayson shook his head.

"I wanna coffee. Do you want a lawyer. This is getting official, I recommend you get a lawyer."

He sighed and closed his eyes for a few seconds. Getting a lawyer in felt like failure. It felt like saying I am guilty. "Get me my phone call I'll get a lawyer in." Jeez how did it come to this.

An hour later Grayson was back in the interview room. The Wayne family lawyer was with them. He had called Bruce Wayne in. He hated calling him in. Every time he called in Bruce it felt like he was a loser. He had no choice though. The lawyer was Isaiah Copeland. A tall thin man with a white skull like face and a very slow way of talking. When he looked at you it was like he was measuring you up for a coffin. He had been the Wayne family lawyer for at least a hundred years Grayson reckoned.

"Interview started again at 9.37. Grayson has got a lawyer present. And you are?"

"Isaiah Copeland." He sat on the thin metal chair carefully. Probably in case any of the dust of the room settled on his expensive suit. His suit probably cost more than most cops earned in a year. Being Bruce Wayne's lawyer must pay very well.

"Mr Copeland. Don't deal with small time crooks I bet?"

"Company law normally Captain Bridges for Mr Wayne. The Wayne's do not associate with vagabonds and miscreants. I have been called in especially for this."

"Not your specialism then?"

He gave a small thin smile. "I specialise in all law Captain Bridges."

"Okay Grayson. Let's take it from the top. You were investigating the Sarandon murder."

He sighed. "Yes sir."

"With your partner Melanie Wilkinson."

"She wasn't my partner. She just got assigned the case along with me."

"When did you last see her?"

"You don't have to answer that," said Copeland.

Grayson ignored him. "She got shot and taken by ambulance. That ambulance got hijacked. I managed to follow it. Then Bowers tried to kill me. I disarmed him and tried to search the ambulance. It was empty. She wasn't in it. Bowers then torched the ambulance. I got out and captured him."

"You beat him to death."

"Don't answer that."

"I didn't beat him to death!"

"You like using your fists don't you Grayson. A lot of your cases end up with the perps in hospital."

"It's a tough neighbourhood."

"True. But you enjoy it don't you?"

"Is this relevant to the case?"

Captain Bridges grinned. "Just making conversation Mr fancy pants lawyer." He turned back to Grayson and drank some more coffee. He grimaced at it. "Our coffee machine stinks. I reckon you found Wilkinson's body in the ambulance and killed Bowers in a fit of temper. You could do it you know. I've seen your eyes when you are mad. You could kill someone. Hell we all could. We've seen more here than you ever will in your company ledgers Copeland."

"She is still missing," said Grayson. "I got those co-ordinates from that guy."

"We sent a unit to that address you know."

"Good."

"Wanna know what we found?"

"Yes."

"Her apartment block."

"It's not her body?"

"We are getting that checked at the moment."

Copeland was busy scribbling notes in his black leather bound pad. His writing was small and neat. "Does this case have anything to do with what my client is accused of?"

"Well not as far…"

"Please keep the interview to the case in hand."

"Okay."

"So far you only have a body in the ambulance that has not been identified."

"Yeah but Grayson was the last one in there."

"Mr Bowers burnt the ambulance. Is that in doubt?"

"No."

"And then collapsed and died."

"Yeah after a beating sustained by Grayson."

"Supposition. Does Mr Bowers have any underlying health issues?"

"We haven't checked."

"Check. I will get my people to investigate as well. I see no reason for you to hold my client and you have no evidence he was responsible for Mr Bower's death. Mr Bower's was resisting arrest. Any injuries he sustained would have been in pursuit of the legal duties of my client. Mr Grayson is not a flight risk."

Captain Bridges shook his head. "We are holding him until this is sorted out."

"Under Section 57 of…"

"Don't spout that at me. I know the law. We are holding him until this is sorted out. Grayson you got anything to say."

"My client has nothing to say."

"Just a minute," said Grayson. He sighed. "I think Susan Sarandon stumbled onto something. Something big."

"What?"

"I don't know."

"Sarandon got killed by a mugger. Happens all the time. This is Bludhaven."

"No she didn't. Someone has tried to hide the evidence. They torched the apartment and they tried to stop Wilkinson and me investigating it. They have killed her and tried to frame me for it. Something is going down. Something big." He repeated.

Someone knocked at the door. "Come in. For the benefit of the tape. Officer Cornwell has entered the room."

"Sorry to bother you sir. You said to let you know when we have the results of Bowers autopsy. The preliminary result shows he had a sustained beating and that ruptured his heart. Also we have the autopsy report from Wilkinson. The dentistry reports prove it was her I knew Wilkinson." He fixed Grayson with a steely eye before leaving. He put the paper on the desk. Grayson read it upside down.

"EXTERNAL EXAMINATION: The body is that of a 32 year old well developed, well

nourished female. There is no peripheral edema of the extremities. There is an area of

congestion/erythema on the upper chest and anterior neck. There are multiple small areas of

hemorrhage bilaterally in the conjunctiva. The patient has no other major scars.

The body is acidotic at the time of death. Signs of a struggle may explain accelerated rigor mortis, because rigor mortis is related to a drop in pH within myocytes. In some cases, rigor mortis or livor mortis may appear in patterns inconsistent with the effect of gravity at the scene. This indicates that the body was moved (either by early responders or someone else) before the investigator assessed the body. It may indicate that the body has been transported from another crime scene."

Bridges frowned at him and put Wilkinson's autopsy report back in the folder.

"For the benefit of the tape Cornwell has left the room. Sorry Grayson my hands are tied. You will be locked up till the case is heard."

Isaiah Copeland put the file into his black attache case. "I will inform Mr Wayne of this and get my staff onto this case. Mr Wayne also advised me to tell you that your other duties will be covered adequately as well. We will get you out Mr Grayson."

"Sure he will get out."

"Good."

"In about ten to fifteen years with this type of evidence. Sorry Grayson. You were a good cop. One of the best. But you took it personal. You shouldn't have taken it personal."

A couple of hours later and he was in a cage in a steel van being transported to Bludhaven Penitentiary. He peered out of the tiny bullet proof window at the brown haze that enveloped Bludhaven. A thick grey plume pumped out of a production plant. The air had an acrid smell to it.

He was chained up.

Two other men were in the same van. One of them was huge with massive tattooed muscles. His bald head was covered in gang tattoos, half of them he would have got inside. He hadn't said a word since he got in. He just fixed him with a baleful glare.

The other man was stick thin and shaking. Probably a junkie and coming down hard from whatever filth he was putting into his veins. He could hear him sobbing and coughing.

"Guard!" yelled Grayson. "One of the guys is having some kind of fit here."

The guard, who was sat down behind a cage wall at the back of the van took his earphones out and just glanced at him. "Junkie filth."

"He needs medical attention."

"He'll get it at the prison."

"He might not make it there."

"Don't tell me how to do my job boy or I will make sure you get the beating of your life inside. You're that policeman aren't you?"

The thin man stopped coughing and crying and just looked at him. The big man strained on his chains but they weren't going anyway.

"Mr Policeman," said the tattooed man. He gave a gap toothed grin. "And going to my prison? My friends and I are going to love you!"


	6. Chapter 6

With very grateful thanks to Cmar and Spikehair for the reviews and for everyone who has read it.

All reviews welcome!

**Chapter Six**

Dick Grayson was slumped on the floor. He looked about him again. He tried to huddle up for warmth. Damn it was cold here. Why was it always so cold here? He reached a hand up to his head. His head had healed up but blood still coated the side of his face. He could hear doors slamming in the rooms around him. Roll call.

He got to his feet and winced. The bruises from the beating he had gotten on the first day were still there and he could still feel them.

Now he was just Grayson, R 543543.

Bruce Wayne had visited him on the first day inside. He had assured him he would get the best lawyers. That didn't protect him here. Since he was a "special case" they had given him his own cell. Police officers, even ex-police officers were not exactly treated nicely here.

On the first day he had met several villains he had personally arrested and several more he had captured as Nightwing. Fortunately he was not recognised as Nightwing but he was recognised as a police officer. About a dozen of them had jumped him in the exercise yard. He gave several of them a few punches to remember him by but in the end he just got overwhelmed. The prison guards just stood by and chuckled until he had been beaten unconscious.

He remembered Bruce Wayne's face again. He had his normal chirpy millionaire playboy look about him but something in Bruce Wayne's eyes betrayed his feelings. He thought Dick Grayson was guilty. It wouldn't stop him trying to help him but… The feeling carried on. If his oldest friends thought he was guilty what chance did he have in a court of law? Was he guilty? His memory of the incident was kind of hazy now. Had he hit him too hard? If anyone deserved it, he did. Has something he had done killed him? He shuddered. He always played rough; he had always been trained to. But what if something he had done had killed someone? The door in front of him slammed open and the guard was there.

"Come on, Grayson. Exercise. Get your ass out of there."

Dick Grayson shuddered and then walked out of the cell. His footsteps echoed through the hallways. He could make out various shapes in the cells and hear talking, muttering and swearing and in the distance a scream that soon turned into a sobbing wail. The concrete wall was pitted with age.

Just one word coursed through his mind.

Escape.

He had to get out of here.

He thought back to the autopsy he had read of Wilkinson.

It wasn't her. She had been shot in the shoulder the report said no wounds.

Which meant she was still alive and it meant that someone else had died to hide that fact.

Someone was going to pay for that. He hated not being able to use his fighting skills in here but if he demonstrated the skills he had acquired under the Batman's careful tutelage he would probably be in more trouble than he was already.

Later that day a brown folder was pushed into his cell. His case notes.

There was a short but sombre letter from Bruce saying to hang tight and they were doing everything they could get him out legally. Legally was underlined three times in red. And that he wasn't to do anything reckless. That note was attached to three red paper clips.

A red paper clip made out of something that obviously wasn't metal or it would have set off the detectors at the prison entrance.

Was it strong enough to work as a lock pick?

He grinned to himself.

Time would tell. Had Bruce sent that on purpose? Maybe. But why underline legally? He wouldn't put it past him to give him a way out. Nothing that man ever did was ever by accident. Or was it Alfred?

There was no way through the bars. They were sealed by a central lock. No lock to pick. He looked up at the ceiling. Washed concrete. No handy ventilation system to crawl through. He was small and slight but even he couldn't squeeze through the bars.

Could he scrape away the concrete? Possibly. Given time.

Time he didn't have though.

Could he fight his way out?

Possibly but he would be showing his formidable fighting skills to the world and he didn't want to hurt guards who were just doing their job.

Three lines.

Three paper clips.

He looked at them again. All three slightly different. What was that on them? Two of them had a tiny drawing of a bar on and the other a key.

He grinned to himself. He would wait till lights out and then things might get interesting.

Four hours later the general screams, cries and moans of prison life dissipated. The lights had gone out but there was a full moon that cast its light through his window into his cell.

His eyes flicked open as his own body clock clicked into play. Working with the Batman for so long had made him very adjusted to darkness and knowing the time without having to look at a watch. He got to his feet and silently looked out of the cell.

Silence broken by the occasional loud snore. How did these paper clips work? Some kind of explosive? Unlikely. Probably a chemical of some sort.

He wrapped one of them round the bottom of a bar. He could smell a vague acrid smell. Acid? Grayson tightened it up around the bar and it slid through the metal until it was cut in two. Now he could bend it round. He was far stronger than he looked and he soon had it bent enough to allow him to squeeze out. He carefully bent the bar back. The damage to it was pretty much unseen.

As silently as a ghost he breezed past the cells and towards the door.

"Grayson that you?" He heard someone whisper. He cursed to himself. Allen "Snake eyes" Tucker. One time police informer, but no amount of informing could keep justice from him. He must be about the only person in his place less popular than him. A huge man loomed up to the bars. He chuckled to himself. "I heard you was in here my man!" He grinned through the bars at him showing a set of teeth that looked like the before photo they show in dentists waiting rooms. "Why you out of your cell boy? The guards will nail you down if they catch you! If I shout out then the…"

Grayson reached an arm through the cell, grabbed him by the dirty shirt he was wearing and made him head butt the bar. He lowered the stupefied prisoner to the floor and carried on his journey.

A big steel door was in front of him. He bent the key paper clip straight and put it into the lock. He could feel it wrapping around the tumblers. It then solidified. What was it made of? He carefully pushed it around and heard a click sound as the tumblers turned. The door creaked open. Didn't they use oil in this place?

He closed it behind him and walked noiselessly up the corridor.

He could hear footsteps up ahead? Two of them. Weight about 130 lbs each. Boots. Guards. Slight chinking sounds. Holding shot guns. Probably got nightsticks as well. Could he take them out?

Probably but he didn't want to really.

The corridor was long and narrow but a high ceiling. No hand holds but he didn't need them. He put his hands on the wall and jumped his feet to the other wall and walked up to the ceiling. There was dust up there. Dust and spiders webs from years of not cleaning. There were steel bars at the ceiling height showing the structure of the building.

The door opened at the other end of the corridor. They were wearing hats. Would they look up? He had to hope not.

He could feel his arm muscles start to burn as they tried to hold his weight against gravity. He ignored them.

"So I says to Cheryl," he heard one of them say. "Either you smarten up this dump I am gone. Would it kill you clean up after me I say? Would it kill you to do my washing? Would it kill you to clean my car? A proper valet service I mean, not a cheap two dollar clean at the mall. I mean vacuum everything that is carpeted and polish everything that isn't. And put one of those pine air fresheners in."

"Why do you call your Mum Cheryl?"

"Always have done anyway guess what Mum said?"

"I assume no considering you turned up to work with your suitcase with the Star Wars sticker on and a car so dirty that you have to feel along the side to find the handle."

"Yeah," he said morosely. "Anyway do you still have that spare room?"

"Yeah, no problem. The wife's sister is staying there at the moment but she can sleep on the couch. She won't mind. What's that noise?"

They both stopped under him.

"What noise?"

"I dunno, that's why I asked."

Grayson's arms were starting to burn. He couldn't stay there indefinitely. They were directly under him now. He bit his lip in pain. They flicked their torches on. He could see the beams hit the ceiling at the end of the corridor.

"I didn't hear nuthink."

"I am not surprised. Listening to heavy metal on your head phones has probably roasted your ear drums. Your tinnitus is so bad I can even hear it myself. Quiet a moment. I definitely heard something."

Would he have to drop down and fight them? He didn't want to.

"What's that?" The torch light was at the other end of the corridor. "It's a mangy bat. This place has got enough problems with bats. Let's leave the door open to let it out."

"Leave the door open?"

"Yes."

"In a prison?"

"Yes."

"And you wonder why you failed your last performance review. Come on let's carry on our checks."

The door slammed shut the other side and he dropped down to the ground and sprinted up the corridor to the other door.

Locked but his paper clip soon had it open. He was outside now. There was a gravel path leading up to the gates and ten foot high chain link fence.

He could hear barking in the distance. Guard dogs. Alsatians probably. Trained to bring down any escapees. He had heard stories of them ripping the throats out of prisoners and nibbling their arms off. They were kept chained up unless a prisoner was on the run. A yellow spot light was focused on the fence in front of him.

Did they already know he had gone?

Impossible.

The alarm would have gone off if they knew.

An alarm started wailing.

An alarm like that one. He could hear the barking sounds get closer. They had been loosed! He ran towards the fence and started climbing rapidly. Was it electrified? Well done Grayson think of that when it was too late. He got to the top and leapt for freedom. He rolled when he hit the ground and was up and running in under a second. He could run a mile in a shade under four minutes. And he could keep the pace going for 15 minutes before he slowed down.

A spot light focussed on the ground in front of him, he skirted it, still sprinting. Suddenly the light illuminated him followed shortly by the stacatto sound of a heavy machine gun. The ground erupted in front of him and to the side. That was close! Too close! If one of those hit him it would rip off a limb or his head. He cartwheeled and changed direction impossibly fast. The spot light couldn't keep up.

"Over there! I saw him! Over there! Let the critters go! Let them go! Get him boys! Kill him!"

The sound of barking was getting closer. He didn't want to look back. Keep sprinting.

He was already starting to sweat. What was wrong with him? Prison food and the beating he had already sustained was slowing him down. His lungs felt like they had a hot coal in them.

He could make out the individual barks now. There must be at least three of them, maybe four.

About thirty meters behind him? Maybe more?

He was starting to run through scrub woodland now. There was an eerie half-light from the moon. He should slow down. There were old roots and rabbit holes here. Going at this speed he could twist an ankle or break a bone. Even his good night vision might mean that.

He could hear a helicopter overhead. It was seemingly balanced on its spot light.

"Aaah!" His foot twisted under him making him sprawl in the dirt. He got to his feet and carried on running. Slight pain in ankle. Nothing serious. He was breathing hard now. Wheezing. His ribs hurt from where someone had kicked them and it was affecting his breathing. And that was slowing him down. He could hear the scrabbling of claws on twigs and the exciting howls of the dogs.

They must be about 10 meters behind him now?

The helicopter spot light danced in front of him trying to pick him out. He could see a man hanging out of the side of it with a gun. Must be attached by a cable. No chance of him falling out. I couldn't be that lucky. Maybe he will shoot a dog?

There was a snapping sound at his feet. He looked down to see the yellow eyes of an Alsatian. Its jaws snapped shut again just at his heels.

Should I climb a tree? If I do I avoid the jaws. A shot winged past him. The gunman in the helicopter had spotted him.

There was another crack sound as a bullet whistled past him. It thumped into a tree up ahead and caused a light rain of leaves.

If I climb a tree he will kill me.

If I stay running the dogs will kill me.


	7. Chapter 7

With very grateful thanks to Cmar, Spikehair, horseloveringod and Gues for the reviews and for everyone who has read it!

All reviews welcome!

**Chapter Seven**

Grayson was running faster than he had ever run in his life. Branches and brambles were scratching at him as he passed.

He could smell the fetid breath of a dog right behind him. The snapping sound of its jaws were mere feet away. The helicopter was hovering overhead, the sniper waiting for him to still so he could get a clear shot.

He wouldn't let him.

He grabbed a tree with both hands and spun around and kicked one of the dogs away. It went spinning away and took out another dog behind him. He rolled, a bullet whistling past his ear, and carried on running.

That move had given him about a minute.

Maybe.

He could hear the whining and snarling sound of the dogs behind him. They had got to their paws and carried on the chase.

He knew the geography of the place. There was a river up ahead. It would be swollen by the winter rains but fast. If he could get in there in he might be safe for a short time.

Oh no.

He could see blue lights up ahead. A police cordon. They had got there quickly. He wasn't expecting this.

"Grayson, this is Captain Bridges! Give it up!"

The voice, probably through a police speaker, echoed around him.

"Come on Grayson you've got nowhere to go!"

He had to turn right.

"Okay men, take him out."

Another bullet winged over head splintering a tree branch above him. He could hear a second one and then followed by a ragged volley. What the hell?

He rolled and got to his feet again. The spotlight illuminating him this time. Another bullet caught his sleeve and he could feel the heat of one past his leg.

He had miscalculated. The river was here but it was running through a chasm. Must be over a hundred feet down below. He could see the white foam of the river breaking over rocks. If he landed on one of those he was dead. A bullet chewed up the ground by his feet.

He could see a line of police men all pointing their guns at him.

"Are you resisting arrest Grayson? Are you threatening us? He's got a gun! Take him out!"

He had no choice. He jumped into the chasm, several bullets following him. If he was in his Nightwing suit he could glide down here and land safely where he wanted to. His prison issue shirt was not the same.

Calm down Grayson. Remember your training.

He could see the sides of the chasm either side and below the river boiling over several jagged rocks. Jeez. It must be too shallow here. He would die here. Broken on rocks. Just please god be quick.

He formed his body into a proper divers position and tried to use his acrobatics to aim at a patch of brown water next to a big rock.

How deep was it? Was it deep enough. One hundred foot dive.

Too late!

He landed with barely a ripple his body slicing into the water like a knife. He immediately flattened his body to slow his ascent into the murky depths of the water. He grabbed hold of a rock at the bottom of the river. God he was still alive! It must be about 30 feet deep here. He needed some luck. The river was a brown colour, full of silt and soil from further up stream. He let go and still swimming underwater swam with the current.

He could see a few bullets land in the water above him. The water was better than any bullet proof vest though as they lost their charge as soon as they landed. Could they see him, or were they firing blind? Why were the police shooting at one of their own?

Light from a spotlight, probably from the helicopter, gave the river an eerie glow.

They couldn't see him. How long could he swim underwater for? A couple of minutes maybe. He kicked out with his feet and using his hands on the rocky surface of the river bed pushed himself along. The current was helping.

Jeez!

He was nearly brained by a rock that jutted out in front of him.

Concentrate Grayson!

Concentrate!

Visibility was poor down here. Strangely the helicopter spot light was actually helping him out.

He needed to take a breath soon. He couldn't stay under here for ever.

He surfaced, grabbed a mouthful of air and glanced above him. The helicopter was hovering dangerously in the chasm. It's spotlight illuminating the river. He could see half a dozen cops looking down at the river. How had they got here so fast?

He dove down again and swam along the bottom of the river as fast as he could. He was getting some distance from them now. He was getting bruised from some of the rocks but he would take a few bruises over bullets anytime of the week.

He surfaced again. He was at least four hundred meters from them. They weren't looking at this patch of river now. He ducked down again and just let the current drag him down river. He tucked his arms over his head and his legs in to stop them catching or snaring on any rocks or branches.

Next time he surfaced the river had snaked around out of sight of the police.

It was cold.

He hadn't really noticed that at first but now he could take stock of it he was cold.

Where did this river go? Bludhaven of course but it was several miles out. It went through the Bludhaven National Park first. 40 square miles of parkland, forests and waterfalls.

Waterfall.

He started swimming to try and get to the side but it was going too fast. Where was a rock to hang onto when he needed it?

Swim Grayson swim!

He could hear a roaring sound. The water fall was about 100 feet high. He remembered being dragged around the park when he was child with Bruce. One hundred feet high and over 500,000 cubic meters of water a second. Alfred had made both of them go out to get some Father, son time together and not just getting out beating villains heads together. It had turned into one of those days though. They had just been strolling to the little cafe overlooking the waterfall when the Joker, along with his cronies, had decided to start selling explosive ice cream to tourists.

He tried to scrabble onto a rock. It was slippery with moss and algae and he couldn't get a grip. The current was getting stronger.

Could he survive this? If he was in his nomex, triple weave kevlar lined Nightwing suit he would give himself an even chance. He even had a rebreather in one of his pouches. And a grappling hook. He would just be able to raise an arm and send a hook skyward and swing out of this. Then another button press to summon my bike, car or rocket powered glider.

Don't think about what might have been. Be in the moment. Concentrate. You can survive this.

He took a deep breath just before the edge of the waterfall, concentrated and kicked off at the edge diving just to the edge of the waterfall. The water even on the edge was pounding him, forcing the air from his lungs, air he couldn't spare.

He tried to dive into the water but was pushed sideways. He hit the water hard making him cry out in pain. Making him swallow a lot of water.

The waterfall pushed him under the surface. His shoulder was painful and he couldn't use his left arm to swim. He had no air in his lungs. He was going to drown. Stop complaining and swim damn it!

He tried to push himself forward. It was very disorientating down there. Was he swimming down towards the bottom of the river? He couldn't see anything! His eyes stung. His lungs felt like they were burning.

Which was way up?

For gods sake which way is up!

He erupted from the surface of the river and took a ragged breath that sounded like a scream.

Jeez!

The current pulled him fast down the river. There was a tree hanging over the edge here. He grabbed hold of it and pulled himself up into the branches. He sagged and just tried to catch his breath and cough out half the river he seemed to have swallowed. He glanced up at the waterfall that adorned a thousand post cards. Its beauty belying its danger.

That was pretty intense. He started shaking as the adrenaline wore off. Real intense. He scrambled out of the tree and started jogging towards Bludhaven. He was still in his prison issue clothes, he would have to lose those quickly. There was a park rangers hut up ahead. Was it empty? The rangers were probably on patrol. He would have to be careful. There was a shiny padlock on the door. Didn't they trust anyone? Here they were miles from anyone and they padlocked the door. Really made you lose your trust of people.

Grayson walked to a side window. It was an old sash window. He got a strong twig and levered it carefully open. The lock on it was old and rotten and splintered. He crawled in and looked about the room. There was an old gas fired stove in the corner. The canister for it was next to it. Was there any food here? A cupboard in the corner held a few tins of food. He found a tin opener and levered one open. He hungrily ate a tin of frankfurters followed by a tin of peaches the juices dripping messily down his chin. A can of coke quickly followed. He sat down heavily in the corner.

Must get up. Can't allow myself to be found here. He had lost his shoes in the river. He looked in bemusement at his bare feet which were almost black by the mud. Hadn't even noticed they had gone! There were some old boots in a cupboard and a big waterproof great coat. They had all been there some time judging by the smell. He didn't care he just put them on and clambered out of the hut.

When he got his life back together he would have to give a substantial donation to them. At the very least he would get them some decent tinned food.

An hour later he was back in Bludhaven. He just looked like any vagrant. People were avoiding him because of the smell and that suited him just fine. He kept his head down as several police cars drove past at speed.

One slowed down and followed his pace for a while. He looked down at the sidewalk. His face was still muddy and his eyes blood shot. He looked nothing like he normally did.

"Sir!"

Was he talking to him?

"Sir, please stop."

He turned to face the car. Not someone he knew. Probably from the 57th precinct. "Yeah?" He said trying to sound casual. Were they looking for him? They must think he was dead surely!

"You got somewhere to stay pal?"

"What?"

"Somewhere to stay? You want we can call a hostel and get you a bed for the night? There is one two blocks from here. Get you off the street? You can get some food a shower some decent shuteye?"

"I'm fine." He carried on walking. Just his luck to run into one of the few decent cops in Bludhaven.

The car carried on following him. "The streets aren't safe. I would rather you spent the night. What's your name son?"

"Just."

"Just what sir?"

"Just mind your own goddamm business!"

"Easy sir, just trying to help."

He heard some chatter from the officers colleague and the siren came on. He held his breath but the car shot away up the street onto some other crime. Bludhaven was always busy for cops.

He had one of Nightwing's garages around here. He wouldn't go back to his flat, there was a chance it was being watched. His garage had his car in it.

He strolled down an old alleyway, the noise of the street life disappeared. A cat hissed at him as he passed. He didn't blame him considering what he smelt like. The garage door looked old rusty and warped and like a stiff breeze would knock it over. That was an illusion. It was a triple titanium reinforced door with a bio-lock for security. Even the Batmobile would struggle to get through that.

He stopped outside the door and glanced around. Silence. Nothing out of place.

Why silent? There were several windows facing down. Four of them boarded up as always and one with dirty curtains that were forever closed.

Something was wrong. He felt like he was being watched. There was a patch on the garage door that looked slightly cleaner. He placed his palm on it and the door hissed open.

Palm print sealed. Nobody else had access to it. The garage lights hissed on as he walked in. The door opened up into a large concrete room. His suits were lined up on one side and he had a small kitchen diner on one side and a bedroom and shower in one corner. His car was facing the entrance. It could be disguised so it didn't look like the powerful crime fighting vehicle it was. A bit like him.

The place didn't look like it had been disturbed. He turned back and could see a man standing like he had always been there. He was dressed in an ebony cloak that flared out into batwings. On his chest was a yellow embossed bat symbol.

"What part of legal did you not understand?"

he dogs will kill me.


End file.
